


Two Minutes Past Five

by meowdiriya



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Dave-centric, M/M, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, doodlefic, howh te fuck do tag tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowdiriya/pseuds/meowdiriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and hell if it isn't excessive effort to get through each day. But, hey. Them's the breaks, and you've learned to deal with it over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5:02 am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pft

You gently grip the soft blanket in your hands, wincing at the sudden noise of your alarm clock. You sit up straight in your bed, silent, giving yourself a moment to gain awareness of your surroundings.

You hear the gentle rustle of some papers, as the alarm continues to sound, and immediately tense.

 _Goddamn fan making the room cold as shit_ , you think irritatedly. A quick glance at your alarm tells you that the current time is 5:02 AM. You had never set an alarm for that time, but you don't bother to wonder why it had rung. You don’t think about it for too long, turning it off.

You lay your head back on your pillow, trying to start sleeping again.

You can't. You're trying, but you can't. The pile of clothes on your bed next to you looks an awful lot like a person, and you have a strange itching feeling. Like someone is breathing on your back, the feeling of being watched.

You try to ignore this for a good ten minutes before you decide to grab your phone from your bedside table, opening up the Pesterchum app. A quick glance tells you that someone is online, and you click on John's handle.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 5:16 --

TG: why are you awake what time is it for you

EB: it's only three, dave. i'm sure you've stayed up much later.

EB: half of the time you keep ME up.

TG: hell no that wasnt what i meant

TG: are you saying you dont enjoy bro talks until 5 am

TG: you know you love it or you wouldnt do it

EB: as if i would enjoy talking to your stinky butt all night!

TG: are you denying that you want a piece of this strider ass

TG: im crushed

TG: i am truly crushed

TG: sound the alarms cause this man is traveling through the country

TG: breaking the hearts of damsels in waiting by the dozens

TG: i thought we had something egbert i really did

EB: pft thats gay

EB: oh shit.

EB: dad's awake.

TG: is he summoning you for father son bonding time ft cake

EB: ugh no! theres too much cake already

EB: uh he's really close and i don't want to disappoint him with my nightly adventures.

EB: i'll talk to you later.

TG: all right

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 5:20 --

Well that did shit. You let out a short sigh, running your hands through your hair. You note the fact that your hair is getting to long for your comfort. The last time you got one was five months ago.

You're probably going to have to go out to get it cut soon. You glance at the door quickly, subconsciously biting your lips as you think. You could go out right now without anyone minding.

You decide to go out, and in a few seconds, your shades have found their usual place on your nose. You tilt your head in contemplation, wondering if you should spend the whole day out. Bro was home right now, so you wouldn't have to deal with him. You also need to stock up on food, and work on an essay for history.

Once you make up your mind, you quickly put your laptop and headset into your navy blue messenger bag, along with your history textbook (which is heavy as hell, much to your chagrin).

Next, you get some cash from your wallet, wincing at how much you have left. You weren't sure if bro took some of your cash, but you decide that you need a better hiding place for your money, which you practically lived off of. You also made a pretty expensive purchase recently, and are only now starting to regret it. But who could pass up on a camera that nice?

Your next matter of business is changing. You decide that the shorts you're in work fine, since you didn't bother to take them off the night before. You dig into the very back of your closet, pulling out a binder, as well as a short-sleeved white shirt. You give both a sniff and decide that this binder needs a good hand-wash.

You stick to hand-washing your two binders because of Bro having found the last one in the washing machine two or three months ago. He then proceeded to dramatically (as much as you could without portraying emotions) chuck it off the roof during a strife. you were unable to locate it, and you think it probably landed on some car and drove off towards an unforeseeable future.

Once you have all of your clothes on, you toss on a red hoodie with a lighter gear symbol emblazoned in the center. Any other Texan would question your choice of a hoodie with shorts. However, you know that a 32DD chest will never bind down completely, unless there's some miracle binder you've never heard of.

You glance at your phone. 5:27 am. Grabbing your set of keys, you make your way out the door and hightail it the hell out of your apartment building. You hope that the barber shop you went to last time is open at this time.

As you make your way down the sidewalk, you take in the sight of the warm colors in the sky fading into blue as they meet the darker parts of the sky. You’re glad you live in one of the quieter parts of houston, because you can enjoy the cool breeze of the air on your skin.

You plug your earbuds into your phone, turning on some music, as you break into a slow jog. You’d go faster, but your history textbook is weighing you down a bit.

In twenty minutes, you find yourself walking into the barber shop from before (which was thankfully open). A bell rings above you softly, serving to signal your entrance into the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a doodlefic. basically meaning that it might never be finished. and it might not have a coherent plot. or maybe it will. basically i'm just writing whatever the shit i want. i also might not bother to edit. or research for accuracy. and a bunch of other things honestly. also, characters might be ooc. especially. in pesterlogs. so. yeah. *thumbs up*
> 
> wow i haven't started and actually posted a multi-chapter story in so long this is strange.


	2. 5:54 am

It's 5:54 by the time you walk up to the counter and inquire about getting a haircut. The employee at the front desk greets you, and proceeds to direct you to one of the chairs in the shop.

Your heart has started beating for absolutely no reason at all, other than you praying that the person cutting your hair will be the same one as before.

As you start searching for a basic picture for the barber to use as a reference, you anxiously tap the phone. You're looking for a picture that will fit your face's shape, because hell if you were going to come out of this looking ten times more feminine than before.

You silently rejoice as you find a good enough picture, hoping that it will work. You hear someone coming up behind you, and turn to face a woman with long, ginger hair and plump red hips.

Thank the heavens, because this is the same barber as last time. The one who didn't ask you any questions about why you were cutting your shoulder-length hair to a much shorter length, in a barber shop of all places. She is your savior, she is your grace, she is the one who makes you not want to pummel your face.

"Hey honey, I'll be cutting your hair today." You give her a slight nod, as she continues speaking, "Did you have anything in mind?"

You wordlessly hand over your phone so that she can see how you want to cut your hair. It's nothing fancy, just a shorter haircut that doesn't frame your face too much.

You work out the specifics of the haircut with her, no longer gripped by the fear of getting a barber who might mistakingly think you're a girl and be an asshole about the way you were cutting your hair.

When you finally leave the store, you're trying to hold back a smile as you check yourself in the mirror. She did not do a bad job at all. You run your fingers through your hair, reveling at that soft new haircut feel. You feel a lot better knowing that your hair is no longer going past your ears.

You don't bother to care about what Bro'll have to say (by which you mean communicate through the language of swords rather than proper words like a normal guardian. That's a bridge you'll cross when the need to do so arises, but you don't think that he'll care that much.

You stop appreciating your haircut once you remember that you also have other things to do. You make a decision to go to the library next, but not before stopping by a café.

At the café you pick up a simple sandwich for lunch, as well as a juice box filled with apple juice. You decide to forgo breakfast altogether and just save the sandwich for later, because you need to save some of your money to replenish your stash of non-perishable food. For emergencies, like when the house ran out of the food that made your irregular (and probably unhealthy) eating habits the way they were.

You unfortunately ran out of food in your emergency stash when Bro decided to go on a one week business trip, but the last time you had to restock it was probably two months ago.

At this point, you're just sitting on a random table in the shop (what was it called? Café Scratch), absent-mindedly sipping on your apple juice. You hardly realize yourself spacing out until you hear that horrible sucking sound that signifies the end of any beverage that is drunk through a straw. That sound will never stop being disappointing to you, ever.

You leave the café with a frown, slinging the messenger bag back onto your shoulder. The cheery employee says goodbye as you throw away the juice box in the trash by the door. It's only a short five minute walk to the library, but you feel a bit groggy as you yawn. It's very rare that you'll wake up this early, even though you stay up late quite often.

You enter the door as you pass through the scanner that alerts the staff of any book thieves. Or movie thieves, since hardly anybody uses the library for just books anymore.

You honestly can't remember the last time you came here to actually do anything productive. A lot of the time you just ended up screwing around on the phone, or engaging in a scintillating back-and-forth conversation with your darling friend Rose.

Though, quite frankly, the conversations aren't that interesting, but she does let you edit some of her latest writing. You have a feeling that she's just trying to humor you with her vaguely suggestive wizard fiction. You need to ask her if she actually takes what you have to say about her writing to heart.

You sit down on a table close to the window, unoccupied by anyone else. There's a few beanbag chairs nearby, but there's no table to place your laptop on, so it would be useless to sit there.

The first thing you do upon opening the laptop is check your blog on Tumblr, where you post your completely shitty and one hundred percent for the laughs webcomic, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. You look to see that one of your posts got one hundred more notes. A bit of clicking shows you that it's because a popular artist reblogged it, said artist having also followed you.

You give a very brief smile of self-satisfaction. You might be half-assing the webcomic, but you do kind of care about its progress, as lame as that sounds.

You realize that you succeeded to get yourself completely distracted from what you initially set out to do, which was get at least half of an essay for history finished. A quick glance at the system time shows you that it is now 6:54 AM, and that you have accomplished exactly squat. You pull out your history textbook, plugging in your headphones so that you can play some music.

You get absorbed into the work, the music playing in your ears serving as a blockade for any stray thoughts you might have floating around. At some point, you end up snoozing.

You wake up a bit groggy, stretching with a yawn. Did people in libraries usually just not bother to wake you up if you're sleeping, or is that just here?

A motion that you see in your peripheral vision distracts you temporarily, and you turn to look at what it was. Turns out it wasn't a what, but rather a who.

Currently, a boy is sitting next to you, flipping to a new page of the book in his hand. His black hair is thick and curly, and the dark circles under his eyes are easily visible on his brown skin. A pair of black glasses were set on his nose, and his lips were moving as he was (attempting to) whisper. You can barely hear what he's saying though, as all of the words together translate to complete gibberish.

You think that he might be analyzing a book. A book about...You stop to look at his book, but to no avail. He's too far for you to see. You scooch over on your chair as quietly as possible, peering over at the text.

_...She gazed into his eyes, getting lost in their depths. Anna realized what she was doing, averting her gaze before her superior noticed. A hand reached out to take hers, and she looked back up at Derrick..._

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. You then notice the pile of books next to the boy, and glance at the one on the top.

The moment you see a mysterious silhouette of a man holding a woman in his gentle embrace as the sun blazed behind them, you can't help it. You snort.

The boy turns to glare at you. You return his gaze with a face of smug satisfaction. He glides to the right on his chair, moving his books with him afterwards. You follow after.

"Look, I don't know what your deal is," he finally says in a vague whisper-shout, "but I have been sitting in this same seat for as long as I can remember, and I would really appreciate if I wasn't forced to relocate by assholes not letting me do shit." His words have a caustic bite to them, and you really think that you might be irritating this guy.

"Sorry, I'll just." you point at your laptop, which is still open and probably losing battery right now, "Yeah."

Congratulations Dave Strider, you know how to use words. Give yourself a pat on the back.

The other gives no proper acknowledgment of your words, aside from a small nod.

You let out a small sigh, turning back to your laptop. Somehow, you just weren't feeling like working. You decide to shitpost instead.

By which you mean clicking on Paint and starting a new shitty comic strip. You really don't need anything other than Paint to get along with making yet another masterpiece.

After feeling someone tap your shoulder, you instinctively shut your laptop, maybe with a little more force than necessary. Upon turning, you discover, to your complete and total surprise (by which you mean completely what you expected), that it's Mr. Stack of Books.

"'Sup." You say in a plain manner.

He raises an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. "You're really drawing fanart for that? The most incomprehensible pile of shit to grace this planet, with an equally shitty asshole of a writer? Please don't tell me you're one of those people who draws spinoff comics, or I swear to Satan's asshole that I will fling myself into the sun, and drag you with me."

You give him a shit-eating grin, opening your laptop again once you realize that he's just criticizing your comic. "You couldn't possibly understand the sheer depth of this story. All of the effort that the artist pours into their work, just to have people like you shut them down. Think about their feelings, man. Think about them."

He scoffs, "Effort? Are you sure you don't mean five minute scribbles done on Paint, of all programs?"

You look at the four comics you managed to scribble in the period of roughly twenty-two minutes, and shrug. "I'll give you that." You push back your chair, standing up and placing all of your things into your bag.

You have other things to do than participate in pointless banter. If you head off to get food now, then you might be able to get home the soonest you can without running into Bro.

Soon, you're on your very merry way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell that i have no clue what i'm doing


	3. 9:55 am

You reach under your shades, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. _It's too early for this shit._ As far as you're concerned, it's always too early for school. You have way better things to do than to be subject to assholes the whole day under the guise of education.

By better things, you mean sleeping. Sleeping and pestering your friends from around the states (with the exception of Jade, who lives in the middle of who-knows-where).

You're barely paying attention to what your math teacher is teaching, but you can still grasp the basics of what she's trying to get into the head of several high schoolers who probably don't care. Key word being trying. 

You can see her irritated face from the back of classroom, probably frustrated at the fact that no one is answering the question she just asked.

You glance at the clock to see if it's worth raising your hand for. _9:55 AM. Nah._ You'd rather not bother getting called "Ms. Strider" if class was just going to end in a minute. It's hardly as if math has a participation grade, either way. Now Spanish. That was a completely different situation.

The bell rings a minute later, and you sling your backpack onto your shoulder, making your way out of the classroom. Just a little less than two hours to lunch, which wasn't really much to look forward to in and of itself. But you could at least use your phone.

You get through two more classes, grateful that you actually looked over the essay you wrote for History. How were you supposed to know that the teacher had said that you would be presenting it before turning it in? Listening, you say? How silly of you, only genuinely committed students with enough energy to pull themselves through daily tasks and then some can do that!

You quickly snag your phone before leaving to have some munchies. You're probably not going to eat anything, especially considering the fact that you didn't bring anything. Perhaps you'll settle with just pestering one of your friends.

You plop yourself down in your usual seat, by the group of _acquaintances_ you have. You mainly just stick around them to not feel like a complete loser, and they appear to take you in as an honorary member of their group. You would talk to them more if they didn't occasionally say words that really fucking stung.

Pulling out your phone, you lean your cheek on your palm. As you click on the Pesterchum app, you let out a yawn. You are the prince of eternal sleepies. It is you.

 \-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 12:10 PM --

TG: im here to steal your girl

TG: its dave strider

TG: professional stealer of girls

TT: One, I hardly believe you have any of the prowess necessary to "steal my girl", as you put it. She would never settle for someone with your tastes.

TG: rude

TT: Two, I hope you are aware that it is currently one for me, and I am particularly...occupied, to say the least.

TG: are you writing wizard fanfics again

TG: please tell me you are

TG: cause im ready to unleash my wicked editing skills

TG: i can feel the power rushing through my fingertips

TG: the power to say "rose this is horrible you need at least one thousand more works detailing the lustful attraction between althagor and henry"

TG: speaking of which what kind of name is henry

TG: you cant just have an assload of whimsical names and then disappoint your audience with henry

TG: children across the nation are crying because you

TG: rose lalonde

TG: failed to provide them with the names their poor little bratty hearts need to survive

TG: i mean damn hes the main character

TG: wait rose dont leave me im sorry your writing is amazing

TG: didnt you say that youre sick at home

TT: Correct, I am merely taking note of your suggestion.

TT: Thank you for the praise, though.

TG: what no done do that to me

TG: goddamnit

TG: shes struck again

TT: Dave, don't attempt to act as if you don't elicit pleasure from beta-reading my works.

TT: Speaking of which, I should have a new chapter prepared for you by the end of the day.

TG: well shit you got me there

TT: Expect it in your Tumblr submission box later tonight.

TG: brb

Someone is tapping on your shoulder. A vague feeling of irritation passes over you once you realize who it is. Just one of those people who hang around your table.

Specifically, the one who always pestered you for your lunch, back when you brought food to school. You can distinctly recall him telling you to "Go die in a hole." when you refused to. Probably because he did the same thing to everyone in the table, and you had been the only one to say no.

"What's up?" You ask him. He glances at your phone. _Shit._ In a few seconds, the phone's screen is covered with the sleeve of your sweater.

"What's your Pesterchum handle?" _For the love of god._ You signal for him to wait as you return to your conversation with Rose.

TG: what was the handle of that troll account we made

TT: Hm. torridException, why?

TG: oh no reason

TG: password

TT: supbitchesimhere

TT: Are you just trying to get me to say that again?

TG: how dare you accuse me of such frivolous actions

You turn and tell him your handle. "Don't expect me to reply." He shrugs in response. You wave him off, hoping he won't even know how to spell that. He probably will though, because he isn't as stupid as he looks. Goddamn school with its high academic ratings and excess of diligent students.

The reasons you are opposed to the idea of just giving him your handle are obvious. One, it is reserved specifically for John, Rose and Jade. Two, your Pesterchum handle is more or less connected to all of your blogs and social media accounts. Needless to say, there is some very sensitive information that could be released if you were to hand out your Pesterchum handle to any old schmuck. And that guy is certainly a schmuck.

TG: hey so do you mind if i change the color from vomit green to red temporarily

TT: Just who are you trying to shake off?

TG: oh just a guy in school

TG: pretty sure he saw our chat colors but

TT: Has it occurred to you that he possibly saw our handle initials, neither of which correspond to that of the extra account?

TG: shhh rose i will just reject him if he noticed

TG: uh lunch ended so bye

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 12:25 PM --

Stupid bells ringing all up in your business. No respect for personal privacy whatsoever. None.

The rest of the day passes by the same way it always does. Like a blur. If someone asked you what the fuck time is, you would just shrug in response because who has a clue. Maybe time didn't exist until living organisms came to fruit to give meaning to it.

Who even knows? Certainly not you, Dave Strider, master of not knowing what the fuck is going on at all times.

You stop yourself before you start questioning the purpose of human existence. The last time you did that, you ended up writing a twenty-five page essay on the issues in America's medical system without even noticing.

Right now, your thought wandering has just got you to the front of your apartment building. You quickly adjust the strap of your backpack, as you open the door and walk in.

You have a feeling that Bro is somewhere around your general location, and that he is fully aware of exactly where you are. So you dash upstairs to do your homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know those stories where there's a lot happening in each chapter and hardly any fillers? and then those stories with a decent amount of plot progression with an equal amount of fillers?
> 
> yeah, well this story is all fillers. i don't actually have anything planned for this story. i'm just writing this so that i write something, and well. whenever i try doing plots i fall flat on my ass and disappoint a bunch of people. that might happen here too, but. i won’t leave you on cliffhangers intentionally, i should hope?
> 
> uh. i had this written for a while but i didn’t want to format the pesterlogs until i heard birds on the wire by tut tut child for the first time (idk why that made me go “shit i need to post this chapter” tho so). sorry this chapter is like super lazy whoops and probably not coherent at all. very rambly. that's how i go. akash, sir knight of the rambles (and excessively long author's notes)s
> 
> idk how to write dave or rose that well either, let alone them interacting. what am i doing why am i doing this.
> 
> thank u v much for all the kudos btw omg (/)///(\\)


End file.
